CROWNE PLAZA HOTEL
MOSCOW, RUSSIA
Finka sat on the edge of her hotel bed and stared in shock at the images she was seeing on TV.
A sudden terrorist attack in Washington, D.C. Pillars of smoke billowed into the sky from multiple locations at and around the Walter E. Washington Convention Center. There was automatic gunfire in the streets, a reported bombing at the Joint Summit Conference, part of the convention center parking garage had collapsed in an explosion.
"—from what I understand," the reporter was saying, "the collapse was a result of some sort of, uh - missile, or rocket attack, and uh, you didn't hear me wrong folks. There is a—"
Finka's mouth dropped open. She switched to CNN.
"—ember Sun, the same organization behind the attacks in Brussels just days ago. Authorities have not confirmed whether—"
She switched to TASS.
The man on-screen was hiding behind a van. Gunshots echoed around him. "W-we are in the middle of W-Washington, D.C.," he sputtered in Russian, yelling over the gunfire. "They just started, uh, started shooting. There's been explosions. N-no word yet on President Vikhrov's well-being, or that of—"
The feed suddenly went dead.
Finka's heart raced. She shot to her feet and fumbled for her phone in her pocket. She was about to call Hereford when she received an incoming call, instead, and a familiar face showed up on her screen's Caller ID.
"Flament!" she answered, her voice echoing her disbelief. "Are we there?"
"In D.C., you mean?" answered Lion. "Yes."
"Jesus Christ," Finka blurted. "Who is it? Is it November Sun again? What teams did we send? Who—"
"Lera, listen to me."
"—Guardian at base? Is Harry—"
"Finka!" Lion tried. "It's going to be fine. Harry's there. We're working with FSB and MSS. We have two teams on-site."
The woman's jaw dropped momentarily. "Fine?" she hissed. "It's going to be fine? I'm watching the news and all I see is smoke and hellfire. What the fuck went wrong?"
"Too early to tell."
Finka walked speedily to her suitcase, unzipped it, and stuffed the previous night's clothes inside. She stopped suddenly. "Why are you calling me?"
Lion sighed on the other end. "Do I hear you packing your things?"
"Of course." Finka frowned. "Why are you calling me, Olivier?"
"Stop packing, Lera."
"What?" The woman scoffed at the man's words and raced to the bathroom. She scooped up her toothbrush and other items into a travel bag. "What do you mean?"
"Lera, Harry had me call you."
She stopped mid-motion, her tube of toothpaste clutched in one hand. "He did? Don't worry. I'm flying back. I'm leaving immediately."
"No, Lera." Lion paused. "He told me to call you if shit hit the fan in D.C."
"I don't understand. What about?"
"He said to call you and tell you to go downstairs to the front desk of the hotel. The concierge will have a package for you."
Finka blinked. She struggled to find a hidden meaning in her colleague's words, and she found her own gaze in the bathroom mirror. "A... package? The front desk?"
"Oui. I don't know what it's all about, I don't know what Harry's deal is." Lion paused. "I'm just doing what he instructed me to do."
"And that's... that's to call me if things go bad in D.C., and tell me I have a package at the front desk?"
"I'm just the messenger."
"The fuck, Flament? That doesn't—"
The phone line clicked dead, leaving Finka in such a confused and frustrated state that she let loose a colorful torrent of curses in Russian. She pulled on her jacket and jeans, and was still cursing under her breath when she let herself out of her hotel room.
* * *
The lobby of the Crowne Plaza was stunningly beautiful. Marble tile reflected lights of extravagant chandeliers hanging overhead. Floor-to-ceiling glass windows gave way to the surrounding cityscape. A fountain bubbled pleasantly near the waiting area.
Finka didn't care how beautiful it was. She speed-walked to the concierge desk, and the young man at the computer looked up at her. He smiled pleasantly, but his gaze found the scar between the woman's eyes.
She was used to it. "I was told I have a package waiting for me." Lera placed her hotel room key on the desk. "Tasha Voronova. Room 717." Rainbow operators always used fake names when traveling.
"Ah, yes." The man knelt to a cabinet under the desk, scooped something up, and returned with a large envelope. He handed it to her.
"Thank you." Finka turned on her heel without a further word, and she eyed the envelope.
Sure enough, the sender was from a Hereford address - which Finka knew to be just as fake as the name she had checked into the hotel under - and she was just about to open it when a woman's voice interrupted her tunnel-visioned thoughts.
"Lera? Is that you?"
Finka looked up, and when she saw the beautiful raven-haired woman near the fountain, she broke into a wide smile. "Natalya?!"
"Yes!" the other woman proclaimed, nearly squealing with delight. She hurried across the lobby with open arms and embraced Finka heartily. "My God, how long has it been?!"